


Sowing The Seeds

by chel (sultrystarsk)



Series: The Rose Garden [1]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrystarsk/pseuds/chel
Summary: Starsky's POV





	1. Sowing The Seeds

**Friday, early fall, 1979**

With Starsky living at the rehab center, Hutch took care of his house for him as time permitted, collected the mail, paid the bills, and watered the few plants he hadn’t moved to his own apartment at Venice Place. The little bit of greenery lent the empty house an air of normalcy, and would be welcoming when Starsky came home – hopefully soon.

Postcards had started appearing in Starsky’s mailbox a few weeks earlier, piquing Hutch’s curiosity with their cryptic content and illegible postmarks.

_‘David, D died on Tues.’_

_‘Wrapping things up here then back to BC. Maybe 3 weeks. Can we meet?’_

_‘Home soon, hope to see you then. Can’t wait – hope you feel same.’_

_‘Home at last! 254 W Jefferson, Thursday 1pm – be there or be square!’_

Hutch sat at his desk now, fingering through the cards; studying them. He was trying to solve the puzzle, muttering to himself, “ _D died… see you then… 254 W Jefferson_. D died – who is D? Not Dave, thank God… What the hell is at 254 West Jefferson? Yesterday Thursday, or next Thursday?”

“What you got there, son?”

Hutch looked up, startled by the unexpected intrusion into his thoughts. “I don’t know, Cap. Something odd… Starsky’s been getting postcards from an anonymous sender; I’m trying to figure out if they’re related to the shooting, some other case, or… I just don’t know what to make of them”.

Dobey moved to peer over Hutch’s shoulder, nearly dropping his sandwich filling onto the desk. “Have you shown them to Starsky? Maybe he can shed some light”.

Hutch thought carefully for a moment; exhaled a deep breath. “No, not yet. I don’t want to get him involved if it turns out to be a case or, worse, a threat”.

“Hmph! That’s odd – they’re all signed with a flower”, Dobey noted. “Well, keep me informed. And let me know if you need backup”. A raised eyebrow conveyed the thinly veiled message: _I won’t tolerate any lone wolves on my team._

By lunchtime, Hutch had made his way to the address on the last postcard – it was a Mexican diner, frequented by students from nearby USC. It seemed innocuous enough, and nobody caught his eye. He ate his bean salad in peace, and left none the wiser.

\--------------

On Saturday, Hutch collected another postcard, this time not postmarked – apparently hand-delivered.

_‘Missed you on Thursday. Can we try again this weekend? Your place?’_

_I guess that answers that question_ _Well, it’s the weekend. I’m sure I can find plenty to do here – let’s see if this phantom turns up._ Hutch double-checked his Magnum and prepared himself for a confrontation. He didn’t have to wait long.

Watching from her car, the slim woman saw the tall blond man collect the mail and enter Starsky’s house apparently without announcing himself. She had seen David’s partner before, but they had not actually met, and she was curious as to why he seemed so at home. She moved the car along a few houses, parking across the street from the wooden house.

Hutch was in the middle of folding Starsky’s washing when he heard the knock. “Here goes nothing”, he muttered to the half-empty basket. Weapon drawn, he approached the door stealthily, opened the viewing window just a crack, and sighed with relief. The woman didn’t seem to have company. Maybe this was just a social call – nothing to do with any criminal element or a hit.

Still, this was not the company he’d expected, and it took him a moment to recognize her. “Rosey. Umm, come in, please. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Ken, umm Hutchinson - David’s partner”.

He could see that Rosey had picked up on his hesitation. After her abrupt departure two years earlier, and Starsky’s resultant pain, Hutch struggled to hide his distrust.

“Yes, I remember. I don’t mean to be rude, but I was hoping to see David.” She glanced around the apartment, most of which could be seen from the door. She noticed the basket of washing, but saw no sign of Starsky. “And if he’s not here, why are you?”

“He’s… he’s not here b-because... Look, Rosey, please take a seat. Can I get you something? Coffee? Juice?”

While Hutch fixed them both an orange juice, Rosey surveyed the apartment from her place on the couch. Nothing much had changed since she was last there, although it smelled a little stuffy, as if the windows and patio door were rarely opened. David’s prized possessions seemed to still be on show – his small collection of Mexican pottery, the stagecoach model his ma had sent to keep him off the streets, a couple of his model ships… Some things were missing, though. The throw rug from the couch. His scent – herbal shampoo, and sandalwood aftershave. This was definitely David’s house, but something wasn’t right.

“Rosey”, Hutch began as he took his place in Starsky’s TV chair, knees bent, feet up on the coffee table, “how much contact have you had with the outside world since you’ve been in hiding?”

“Not much – Daddy said we had to cut ourselves off, so there was no chance of his rivals finding us. We didn’t communicate with anyone here – just made a new life in Guadalajara, and forgot about this place”. Now she was worried. Putting her glass down, she leaned forward, fully alert. “Why? What’s happened?”

“So you don’t know about the shooting a few months ago?” Seeing Rosey’s expression change from puzzled to terrified, Hutch reassured her. “He’s okay. Well, kind of. Wait a minute – what are you doing here? Why is it okay for you to have contact with the outside world now?”

The content of the first postcard hit him like a slap to the face _. ‘D died on Tues’._

“Frank’s dead! Right?” At her nod, he sighed with relief. “So you sent the postcards? You have no idea… I’m sorry… I’m sorry about your father, but I thought someone was sending those cards as a warning, a threat – or clues to a case.”

Rosey seemed genuinely confused now – Hutch was moving way too fast. “Of course not! Why would I send David threatening mail? I just wanted to see him! Wait – has he seen them?” Hutch shook his head. “Well, if he’d seen the cards, he would have known they were from me.”

“Ahh, the rose! I’m sorry, I didn’t make the connection. And I couldn’t show them to him – he’s not well enough to deal with threats. I know, I know…” He placated her protest before it began. “You didn’t mean them as threats, but I didn’t know that.” He paused to compose himself. “Well, between us, we’ve made a dog’s breakfast out of this, haven’t we?” They both smiled shyly, breaking the tension, and then laughed.

“Let’s start again, shall we?” Hutch offered.

Rosey listened in horror to the story of the shooting, the wounds inflicted, and the vigor with which Starsky was attacking his recovery. It didn’t surprise her – his single-minded determination to get the best out of life was something she’d found especially attractive. She’d missed his energy – in fact, all of him – over these last couple of years, and felt drawn back like a moth to the light.

She quickly filled Hutch in on her own life - the Shamanic Arts Foundation she and her father had set up in the Sierra Madres, his inability to adjust to their new world, and his sudden death - and her need to return to Bay City. Starsky was part of that need, and she had only hoped to rekindle an old flame. She was also aware that she had hurt him, and should not have any expectations.

“Rosey, it took a while for him to get over you, and the way you left. He moved on. He’s changed. Even before the shooting, some things happened that… I don’t know how to explain it, but life has been a lot darker for him this past year or so. It hasn’t been pretty. Look, I don’t feel I owe you any explanations. I’m just trying to tell you that I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see him”.

After half an hour of amicable catch-up, Rosey was taken aback by the vehemence in Hutch’s tone. It was like a switch had flicked.

The look in her eyes told Hutch she was both hurt and ready for a fight. Too tired for a challenge, Hutch ran his hands down his face, pausing to steeple his fingers over his bottom lip, and apologized again. He seemed to do that a lot lately, thanks to watching his best friend’s daily struggle, and his own lack of sleep.

He sighed deeply. “Give me a day or two to think about it – maybe run it by him and see what he thinks. If Starsky says ‘no’, then that’s your answer”. Then, “Oh, and don’t even think about visiting him without my say-so – nobody accesses his room without a pass.”

There was that look again – Rosey recognized The Protector. She made to object, but changed her mind and merely nodded. She gave Hutch a note with her contact details, and left.

The silent departure gave Hutch an undeniable message: ‘I’ll play by your rules, but only if it’s best for David.’

_Maybe she really did love him._

He collected their glasses, placed them in the sink, and resumed folding Starsky’s clothes for next week.

\------------------------

**Tuesday**

“Your move, buddy”, Hutch said, confident of taking Starsky’s queen on his next turn.

“I’m thinkin’. Gimme a minute”. Starsky fidgeted a moment, flexed his fingers, and moved unexpectedly.

“Checkmate!”

“How do you do that?” Hutch exclaimed in disbelief.

“It’s legal, Hutch. Look it up in this book you gave me. Face it, buddy – that’s another ten spot you owe me. You must’ve been distracted or somethin’.”

At Hutch’s silence, Starsky’s triumphant smirk turned into a worried frown.

“What is it?” he asked.

_There’s no easy way to do this_ , Hutch thought. _Just bite the bullet_. “Rosey’s back in town. She asked to see you”.

“Rosie Dobey, or Aunt Rosie? Why would they ask…?” Starsky’s heart turned to goop; missed a beat. “Rosey Malone? She is? When? When’s she comin’ in?” He looked at the door, as if expecting her to magically appear. He rubbed his hands together, and begged an answer with his eyes.

The playful response reminded Hutch of a puppy, or a kid at Christmas. Or Starsky at Christmas, with a new puppy.

\-------------------

While Starsky was excited at the prospect of seeing Rosey again, Hutch needed more assurance. That night, he met her at a small restaurant – neutral ground. “Just answer me this – how can you have had no idea of your father’s criminal activities?”

“I don’t know what to say, Ken. Looking back, I can see that he and his friends were secretive about their business meetings, but I didn’t know what they were! It was all I’d known”, she pleaded. “Can you say without question, you know all of your own father’s business dealings inside and out? Does he win grants in his job? Do you know the wording of every one of them; know if he greased any palms? He was my father; he took care of me, made sure I had a good education, a good start in life, and I trusted him that it was right. It wasn’t until I met David that small doubts became realities, and then I had to make a choice. The man I’d loved all my life, and to whom I owed so much, or the man I fell in love with at first sight.”

She was starting to shake now, making Hutch uncomfortable. He released her from the prison of uncertainty. “Okay. He said ‘yes’”.

It took a moment for Rosey to realize the weight of his words. Battle over; she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, her expression full of gratitude. She glowed with excitement, as the tears flowed freely.

_Yes, she really does love him_ , Hutch thought.

“Thank you, Ken. I know you’re just looking out for David, but I’m not here to hurt him, I promise. I’ve missed him, and just want to see him again. No expectations, okay?”

\----------------------

**Monday**

As Hutch walked in, Starsky was lovingly fingering a small native yarn painting. “I’ve seen one of these before… It’s a prayer offering, isn’t it?” Rosey nodded. “It’s beautiful; colorful”. He turned the item over in his hands, savoring the texture so different from that of his pressed sheets and pajamas; enjoying the vibrant colors that matched the throw over his bed.

“I hoped you’d like it. It’s a Sanchez original. See here? He signed it for you. He’s working so hard to help the Huichol keep their identity – the churches are undermining their culture, all in the name of integration. It’s immoral! At least through the shop, we’re helping…” Rosey broke off her animated sermon, as she noticed Hutch leaning against the door frame, his face alight with a broad grin.

“Hey, kids – having fun at the fair?” he laughed. Two pairs of doe-eyes turned to him; he smiled gently, nodded, turned and left. He’d be back this evening, but for now, Starsky was in safe hands.


	2. At Second Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starsky's POV

Wednesday

Me n Hutch usually play chess or cards after a heavy PT session. It helps me wind down; I can use my brain and rest my body. Game time is also great for talking. What he said yesterday, “Rosey’s back in town”, nearly put me back in Intensive Care.

Now that the excitement’s worn off, I’m starting to wonder if it‘s the right thing to do – bring Rosey back into my life. Such as it is.

The man she knew two years ago is long gone.

I’d never believed in fairy tales, and all that romantic stuff about ‘love at first sight’, until that day in the park. Okay, so it was more like ‘lust at first sight’, but there was just something about Rosey. More to her than looks, that gorgeous hair I just wanted to run my fingers through, or those legs that went all the way up to… Well, you know. Something about her eyes – a longing I hadn’t seen before. 

We shared so much in those few weeks – Mexican art, spicy food, music… The sex was great! Oh, man…

And that’s what worries me now. Sex was a big part of our relationship. But I’m not that man anymore. My heart and soul, ‘though battered and bruised, haven’t changed too much, but my body is a wreck. Is it fair to get her hopes up that we could go back to what we had before, when I’m not up to the job? “Up”. Yep, that’s a problem.

My chest looks like railway tracks, and while I haven’t seen my back, it has to be worse. A lot of the surgery was done through there – it has to be a mess. I know from the massages and having baby oil rubbed in, that there’s a lot of scarring. There are also spots that I can’t feel at all, while others hurt like hell. The doc says that’s the way deep scars heal sometimes, when there’s so much nerve damage.

What if Rosey finds me ugly now? What if she’s expecting the Dave Starsky she met two years ago - and told me she fell in love with – and can’t stand the sight of me? It was a real turn-on when she played with my chest hair; what if she can’t stand to look at me, let alone touch me?

Only the doctors, nurses and Hutch have seen my scars. None of them comment on their ugliness, just tell me how well I’m coming along. How would I feel, if someone ran screaming in horror? I don’t want to be some freak show.

And what about working; putting food on the table. Can I work as a cop again? As anything? When I leave the rehab center, can I go back to my own home, with its steps and sloping garden? Or will I have to give that up and get something smaller, cheaper, and easier to get around?

Slow down. I’m getting ahead of myself here. I need to be more patient. Step back, as Hutch would say. Take a breath, as Rosey would say. 

I don’t know what my future holds. I’m just putting one foot in front of the other at the moment, and then only just. I can’t think about next week, next month or next year. Right now I’m excited and scared, both at the same time.

Oh boy, do I have some things to think about. This is too hard. Maybe I’ll just tell Hutch I’ve changed my mind, and save Rosey the trouble.

Thursday

“You’ve changed your tune, buddy boy. What happened? You were looking forward to this yesterday.”

Poor Hutch. Even after all these years together, I don’t think he can handle me suddenly changing tack.

I poured out my doubts; he sat and listened, his face moving through caring interest to sadness as I told him for the first time my fears about my own ugliness, and my reservations about being able to provide for a family. He’d lived through my frustrations at the physical limitations, but he doesn’t even know I can’t… well, he could probably guess, but we don’t talk about it. That’s too personal, even to share with Hutch.

Sympathy dripped out of his every pore, He was devastated by my rant. “If you’re at all uncertain, Starsk, just say the word and I’ll call it off.” 

I dunno. Should I stop this before it starts? If it starts. She might take one look and run. To me, or from me? Either, I guess. We were pretty intense before…

Hutch continued. “Obviously I’ve told her about the shooting, and that things have changed for you. She has to know the implications. She could have run then, but didn’t.”

I replied, “No”.

“’No’ what? No, you don’t want to see her, or no, don’t call it off?”

“No, don’t call it off. What’s the worst that can happen, hmm? She sees a freak and runs away screaming? Sounds like a Friday Fright Night movie to me. See them all the time.” I smiled softly.

Hutch breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. You deserve some happiness for a change, Starsk. Even if this doesn’t work, at least you’re giving yourself a chance.” Then, “I do have one doubt though, and that is your safety”.

“Huh? What do you mean?” 

“Well, with Rosey having Family connections, I’m just a bit worried that’s going to come back and bite you, if you get back together.”

“Oh shit! I didn’t even think – what if I’d be putting Rosey’s life at risk?” 

I’d learned to live with the price on our heads since Gunther’s operation was bust open, but Rosey’s safety hadn’t even occurred to me.

“Starsk, I’m talking about your safety!”

“And I’m talking about Rosey’s! Maybe we should call it off. God, how could I put her in danger, Hutch?” If I thought frightening her with Frankenstein’s monster was bad enough, the thought of her being killed or injured because of me, sent me into a blind panic.

Hutch leaned forward and spoke very quietly – in that way he does when he’d like to shout, but knows he’ll get through to me better by doing the opposite. “She’s the daughter of a mobster; even though he’s dead, nobody is going to touch her. They have an honor code, of sorts. I’m sure she’s safe. It’s you I’m worried about.”

I weighed up the possibilities for a moment, and he was right. I could use a little happiness. “Okay – let’s give it a shot. I’ll take my chances with the mob – always have anyways – as long as Rosey will be safe. And that’s if she’s even interested when she sees what a mess I am”. I snorted lightly and winked. Hutch can’t resist that – works every time.

He was obviously relieved. “I’ll set it up. She’s heading south for a couple of days. Said something about buying some paintings. Do you want to see her before she goes, or wait until next week?”

I opted for before. Might as well get it over with if it’s gonna go bad. Then she could go to Mexico without feeling obligated to visit because we’re in the same town.

Friday

Our meeting was even more wonderful than I could have imagined. The second I saw her, I was in love all over again, and hoped like hell she felt the same. Her hair was a little shorter; she was wiser about the world, but not world-weary like I’d become. She was still sad for her father, but her eyes lit up whenever she looked at me.

Hutch stood guard for the first few minutes – probably frisked her on the way in – then quietly left, saying something about getting a coffee. That was his way of telling me he approved, and believed I was safe.

Rosey told me about the good work of her organization in Mexico, how well the gallery had done and that she was about to open up a branch here. Not where Galleria was – that’s a café now – but in the foothills. She was so passionate about the Foundation’s work, it was beautiful. She was beautiful. We were still on the same wavelength when it came to causes.

I longed for some physical closeness, but it was too soon. Touching hands was about as much we allowed ourselves, and it was almost enough for now. Almost.

The long week and the excitement of seeing Rosey again were starting to wear me out, and as much as I wanted her to stay forever, I was starting to nod off. Hutch’s radar must have been on ‘high’ – either that or he’d allowed her a strictly timed visit – because he knocked and entered just as my eyes drifted closed.

Rosey and I held hands; she leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek, then turned to leave.

“No.” I pleaded quietly, and tugged lightly on her forearm. She leaned in again for a gentle kiss on the mouth, brushed my eyebrow with a thumb, and went to the door.

“See you next week?” she asked tearfully. I nodded in return. 

How many days until next week?


End file.
